Chapter Text
The library was the only place Beatrice felt completely at peace. Even in Lemony’s apartment, she still felt uneasy at times, although she was unsure why it was so. Whenever she became bored, or stressed during her search for her siblings and the occasional volunteer mission she helped with Lemony, the library was always the place to go. She could get lost in the shelves for hours, browsing through the innumerable books she planned on devouring. It was a safe haven where she could escape, temporarily, from most of her troubles and woes, and imagine a different universe where times were better, and there were mostly happy endings. She was old enough (thirteen years old, to be precise) to know that it wasn’t always so in the real world, but it never hurt to imagine.
On that particular morning, Beatrice awoke with a start, panting heavily, with cold sweat beads forming on her forehead. A nightmare, again. This time it was different than before—Lemony and Sunny disappeared and while Beatrice was trying to find them she encountered Violet and Klaus, who had defected to the fire-starting side, and VFD had kidnapped Lemony and Sunny. The last thing she could remember was hearing the ominous cackle coming from Violet’s mouth. Beatrice, get yourself together. No one has disappeared, and you haven’t found V and K yet, she reprimanded herself.
She checked the clock. 7:13. Since she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again, Beatrice changed from her pyjamas and left her bedroom. She could smell the delicious aroma coming from the kitchen, and she poked her head through the doorway, where Sunny was sizzling some pancakes.
“Hi, Bea!” Sunny called cheerfully. “You woke up early today.”
“Morning, Sunny. I had nightmares again, and I couldn’t sleep.” Beatrice sighed. “What pancakes are you making?”
“Blueberry and fig ricotta pancakes with caramelised bananas. Do you want to try some?” She handed Beatrice a small plate.
“Mmhmm. It’s great as always.” Beatrice licked her lips and smiled, for Sunny never failed to impress her with her culinary creations. “Where is Uncle Lemony?”
“I don’t think he’s awake yet.” “When he wakes up, please tell him I’ll be at the public library, although hopefully I won’t be for long.”
“Sure. You’ve been stressed lately, huh?”
“I guess, with all the nightmares and stuff, I just need to clear my head a bit, you know. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
“Bea, have another pancake before you go!” Sunny called, but she had already left.
Beatrice had already memorised the book titles she had planned on reading in the library (Lemony had recommended Anna Karenina, so she decided to start with that), but once she got there and started browsing the shelves again, a thick, hardback volume she hadn’t noticed before, hidden skilfully behind a colourful pile of children’s fiction books in another aisle caught her eye. Beatrice walked to the shelf and picked the book up, inspecting the cover closely while wondering why she hadn’t seen it before. After all, she was certain she had memorised every book in the children’s literature section. The cover was a dull grey, and in the centre was a small silhouette of a boy. The hardback was titled, “Lost: the tale of a vehement, fierce and desperate boy in search of his family”, written by an author she never heard of. It’s strange how we share similar circumstances, Beatrice thought. She read the blurb, which described a homeless orphan trying to find his siblings. Now she was captivated. Whatever novels she had originally planned on reading would have to wait. Beatrice flipped a few pages, and nearly dropped the volume when she read the dedication:
Beatrice—
Dearest mother, friend and daughter too. Where have you been?
Who- who wrote this? Beatrice was almost certain of the answer; she could only hope she was right. She looked at the cover again. The author: Akeal Luid Saubre… it was an anagrammatic pseudonym, there was no doubt about it.
She solved the anagram, as she had been trained to do, in mere seconds—Klaus Baudelaire. Klaus Baudelaire! She could barely contain her excitement upon finding this lead. It was him! He must be trying to find me too, Beatrice thought, even though writing an entire book seemed too much of a far-fetched plan. She skimmed through the book, and she nearly laughed out loud when she realised—except for the first page of each chapter, the book was blank. Clearly, Klaus had counted on the average reader placing the book back upon reading the first few dreary paragraphs typical of her uncle’s style. She flipped back to the front, at the table of contents, hoping a message would be hidden there. Her eyes lit up when she reached the bottom of the page, and she immediately turned to the last and thirteenth chapter, The Violet Hour.